To Zanarkand
by Nemi Almasy
Summary: Auron's thoughts as he attempts to fulfill his promise to Jecht after Braska and Jecht defeat Sin. Oneshot.


Justice is a false concept. A lie told to placate us, to make us believe that there can truly be peace and equality in the world. But this world is neither just nor fair and only through experience can that be learned.

The sad truth is, the world is a senseless and inescapable spiral of death.

"Where is the sense in all this? Braska believed in Yevon's teachings and died for them! Jecht believed in Braska and gave his life for him!"

"They chose to die…because they had hope."

'Because they had hope'. Was that really the reason? Or did they choose to die because they had a blind faith: Braska in Yevon, and Jecht in Braska.

Somewhat ironically, though Yunalesca had blinded me in one eye, I felt I could see better than ever. The cloud of Yevon's teachings no long hung over my head. But there was no false hope that I could make it down the mountain and spread the truth to Bevelle. Even if I made it alive, no one would believe me. Most likely I would be locked away, taken for mad. It didn't matter anyway.

I was dying.

Dying, though I wished I were already dead. Pain wracked my body, but somehow, against all odds, I had made it from the temple at Zanarkand, made it back to Mt. Gagazet, made it through the bitter cold winds down the mountain pass to the Calm Lands. My body was being pushed on by some otherworldly force, some power that was not my own. Covered in blood, aching from head to toe, I kept pushing forward, only hearing Jecht's voice drowning out the pounding of my heart in my ears.

"Listen good. Take care of my son. My son, in Zanarkand. He's such a crybaby. He needs someone there to hold his hand, see? Take care of him, will you?"

How was I really going to get to Jecht's Zanarkand? Did it even truly exist?

I had to believe it did. Without that to drive me forward, I would surely die. In my mind, the promise I had made to Jecht was all that kept me from the farplane.

Too weak to go on, I collapsed just short of an Al Bhed travel agency on the western side of the Calm Lands and there the owner nursed my wounds as well as he could. His name was Rin.

"Oui yna hud silr muhkan vun drec funmt, so vneaht," he had told me. "E femm tu fryd E lyh."

I knew enough Al Bhed to know it wasn't good news. Rin begged me to stay until they could find a summoner to heal my wounds, but Braska had just rung in a new calm and there wouldn't be any summoners coming that way for a long time. By the time they could get one from Bevelle, it would be time to send me instead of heal me.

So I pressed on, pulling myself with my sword when my legs seemed ready to quit on me. I made it to Macalania and on to Bevelle, but I barely made it to the outskirts of the city when my body told me it could go no further.

My legs gave in and I fell to the ground, fresh blood stemming from the wound on my face. This was it. Jecht's words couldn't force me any further. There was simply no way to survive.

My saving grace was hornless ronso named Kimahri. He came to me when I was at the precipice between life and death.

"You summoner Braska's guardian," his deep, gruff voice woke me from my near-death slumber.

He towered above me, all muscle and sinew beneath blue skin. A great mane of silver hair encircled his face and with the sun behind him, it shone and sparkled brilliantly.

"Ronso…" Speaking was a true effort at this point. "Please…take…Yuna…Braska's daughter…take her to Besaid. She'll be safe. Braska…loved it there. You must find her…"

"Kimahri will find Yuna," the Ronso nodded. "First Kimahri help Sir Auron."

"No. No, Kimahri. I'm beyond help now. Go…find Yuna."

In typical ronso fashion, he didn't stick around to ask 'are you sure?' or 'I'll get help' like a human might. He took off to carry out my last wish with great haste. Content that at least one of my companion's dying requests had been followed through, I closed my eyes for a final time and, with an overwhelming sense of relief, let death overcome me.

So stupid of me to forget about unfinished business.

I don't know how long I lay dead before I rose again. All I know is that my eyes opened again, yet I was distinctly not alive. My body still felt solid, still felt real to touch, but there were telltale signs that I was no longer of the living. The blood that had stained my body was gone; my wound puckered into a scar along my forehead, across my eye, and down to my cheekbone; my fatigue gone. I could walk, I could breathe, I could run, I could swing my sword. But it would only take the wave of a summoner's staff to send me to where I belonged. Bevelle was not a safe place to be an unsent.

There's a funny thing about being dead among the living. You can see and hear things you never could before, and what I heard immediately was Jecht's voice, pounding in my ears once again.

"Take care of my son. My son, in Zanarkand."

This time the voice wasn't just in my head though, it was coming from the sea.

Though it would not come close to shore for a few years yet, Sin had already been reborn. It had been only a day since Braska had defeated it and already it was back, growing and waiting to wreak havoc on Spira once again. The endless cycle of death and pain, ever reborn, not because humans could not repent, but because Jecht had given his life to become the new Sin.

And he was calling out to me.

"Take care of my son. My son, in Zanarkand. Take care of my son. My son, in Zanarkand. Take care of my son. My son, in Zanarkand. Take care of my son. Take care of my son."

No longer composed of flesh and blood, though I certainly still felt that way, I knew I could go out to sea without risking my life. My life was already gone. So I made my way down to the shore and into the water, and though I could feel the water lapping against my skin, cool and salty, though it wet my hair as I submerged beneath its surface, I could still breath, still walk.

How long I walked along the seabed I'll never know. Time seemed to lose meaning. I just followed Jecht's voice, further out to sea. And there I met him.

He was not yet the looming beast that Braska had destroyed, but he was formidable still for having just been born: a great whale-like beast, sprouting sin-spawn all over its body.

"Jecht."

"Take care of my son. He's such a crybaby," Jecht's voice sounded from within the beast. From within Sin.

"Take me to him," I begged.

So, like a tame chocobo, Sin bowed its head and waited for me to climb upon its back. Then it swam and swam, further and further, far from any place I had been in Spira. A great storm whipped up around us until we were in the center of a powerful hurricane. I could see nothing but Sin's head in front of me.

Then all at once, Sin's whole body shook, it bucked wildly and threw me into the storm. The winds raged around me, rain beat down in painful sheets against my skin. If I weren't already dead, I would have feared for my life, feared my skin would be torn away from my body.

Jecht's voice sounded once more, "Take care of my son…"

The storm subsided as quickly as it had begun and I found myself standing on a walkway high above the ocean and there, in front of me, stood a vast, brilliant city, twinkling with the light of machina against the twilight sky. And I knew I had arrived.

This was Zanarkand.


End file.
